Dearest
by QueenOfCitrus
Summary: GinHitsu: He rarely had any clients. Women avoided such places, and men usually picked prettier dolls to play with. But whenever one decided to cross the line, whenever they felt too angry or too exhausted to have somebody else, they came to him, always knowing what they were after… Always knowing. Except this one boy. That annoying little brat wanted nothing.


**_A/N: So I've been writing this for a while now, and I think I'll continue to think of it as a side project, at least till I finish up 'High School', which, by the way, for those who still follow it, will get updated on Sunday or Monday. I don't accept any criticism on OOCness, because I think it works for the story and because I want to try something different. _**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach or the characters in it.  
_**

* * *

Dearest

Chapter 1

_Dearest, _

_It was another one of those days today. Long, languid, eventless… The scent of spring flowers clung to the white silk curtains, invading the room in tides every time the chuckle of the wind made them billow in a pout. I could see everything between the spread wings of the window – the vast blue sky, the puffy cotton of the torn clouds, the promise of freedom that shimmered in the very fabric of the air..._

_I was lying among the crumpled sheets, basking in the afterglow of the bliss that I had experienced just moments ago, when George leaned over me and planted a gentle kiss to the corner of my mouth, making me giggle. I liked George. He was young, and handsome, and so witty, he could have anyone he wanted if he just put a little effort into it. Funny that he had never showed any such penchants, and even less so in my presence. Like many others, he was, too, afraid of the idea of a true relationship, and oddly enough I could understand him so, so well…_

_When he told me he loved me, I turned my head to the side, eyes fluttering open to stare at him curiously._

"_But you don't love me, do you?" he whispered, somewhat amused as he pressed his lips to mine again, as though to sow those words into my mouth, to make me understand. "Do you even know what love is?"_

_I just smiled softly at him, not even considering the option of giving him a reply despite the mild flame of urgency that flickered in his eyes. No, he didn't want an actual answer, not really… Deep inside he believed I was his, they all did. And I let them entertain that illusion, because being theirs was only possible if I was no one's. It was a primal rule of sorts, engrained so permanently inside our minds and bodies, that we could never battle the whisper of our own instincts. I could never tell, never ever tell, that my heart already belonged to someone else._

_My Dearest… I do miss you so._

England, 1892

The whole brothel smelled of mold, cheap perfume and lewd whispers – a combination so familiar and so indelible, that Gin figured most of the decadent souls who haunted this place could no longer sleep without inhaling the lasting scent of sins that had thoroughly soaked into their clothes, hair, skin, bones and heart. Sometimes he liked to joke that breathing was boring – _too _boring if there were no memories or regrets to gag you – although in all honesty, he couldn't remember the last time he had savored pure air. He had long ago become one with the creaky old building where he worked. The mildew had crawled down his throat, the stagnation tripped his feet and the desperation had infected his mind and body like an incurable disease that he had given up on fighting. The walls were thin here – paper thin – but after a while the courtiers in this ancient palace of debauchery learned not to pay attention to the noises that came from the rooms nearby, for it was a miracle in itself that there were rooms at all. Most prostitutes, especially in damned, suburban neighbourhoods such as this one, had to settle for practicing their 'vocation' in filthy backstreets, narrow alleys and abandoned parks. Few were as lucky as to get a spot on one of the condemned floors of '_Seven Charms_' and no matter how much he hated what he did, Gin was thankful for having at least the chance to perform his deplored art with a roof over his head and his meager home away from the eyes of those special kind of clients that would do _anything_ to escape paying what they owed. There were enough gruesome tales about vengeful or unsound customers around the district, nobody wanted to be the next victim on the list.

Even if it meant sharing a percentage of their lamentable earnings with the covetous hand of the brothel's owner.

"_Open the fucking door you good-for-nothing piece of trash!_"

The familiar screechy voice cut through the wobbly door, accompanied by unreasonably loud banging that had Gin waking up with a flinch. His head turned weakly in the direction of the noise and he bit the inside of his cheek, keeping himself from barking at his boss to shut up and leave him be for once. The perspective of rolling to the other side and pretending to be out cold was incredibly tempting, and for a moment he almost gave in to the alluring idea. He was dead tired and he just wanted an hour of sleep, but he knew he wasn't allowed any such luxuries, not if he wanted to cover the minimum payment that he owed for the room he was currently occupying… So despite the fatigue that was literally corroding his muscles, despite the fact that his eyes burned from being up for so long, he swallowed his frustration and forced himself to get up.

He noticed his gait was quite unsteady as he stumbled towards the door. It was actually against the rules to lock yourself in – for safety reasons and because nobody wanted to even fake they cared about your privacy – and Gin knew he was in trouble as he removed the hard wooden chair from where he had propped the door-handle with its back, successfully unblocking the way and peeking outside.

"The hell do ya want?" the man grumbled, staring down at the atrocious creature that was sizzling like a fat sausage in front of him. It was amazing to even consider that once upon a time the body of the woman that was currently standing in front of him had been not only smaller and younger, but also attractive enough to drive the minds of hundreds of men crazy. Jane Candy, an ex-hooker and a dancer whose name had been one of the most known ones twenty years ago, was now a large, greasy woman in her late forties with sharp pale blue eyes and slick black hair, held back in a loose bun at the back of her head. As one of the few women that had managed to escape the fate of her profession, she had managed to marry the owner of '_Seven Charms_' and after his decease, she had avidly taken over his favourite cathouse, running it with cruel hand and no mercy whatsoever, regardless of her past or maybe – just maybe – precisely because of it.

"Sleeping? Really, Gin?" Jane drawled sarcastically, eyeing him up and down with a disgusted look on her face before spitting rather theatrically in his feet. Her soft, roundish hand found the door and she shoved it open, allowing the light from the lantern that she was holding to illuminate his face and the old, stitched up clothes that were hanging on his overly thin body. "I thought you were smarter than this. Look at yourself. No wonder you barely get any clients."

Stretching his lips in a half-grin, Gin leaned over the threshold, towering over her as he added in a maliciously low voice.

"Can't help bein' like this afta 19 hours of no sleepin' every day, but I'm afraid ya ain't got no excuse fo' lookin' the way ya do."

Jane's face contorted into a grimace, anger and gall twisting her rotund face as she thrust her fat index finger under his nose, nearly making him reel back.

"Watch it! Watch it, Ichimaru, I'm a hairsbreadth away from kicking you out on the street!"

"I've been workin' mah ass off, what the hell do ya want from me?"

She laughed out loud at that question, two rows of rotting teeth shining in the poor light similarly to a chunk of a chess board. Her overly bright red lipstick – a habit, obviously left from the days when she had done her best to attract the attention of all males around her – seemed positively ridiculous on somebody so wilted and morally degenerated, but Gin decided not to comment. As much as he hated to admit it, he was still dependent on his woman and if it hadn't been for the fact that most of the ladies who worked here would do anything in their power to make him stay, Jane would've probably thrown him out on the streets fifty times by now.

"Profit, you lazy slut, you barely have anything for me by the end of the week." She cooed with feigned sweetness, cocking her head to the side as she once again contemplated his pitiful condition. "And judging by the way you look, you could use a little more food on your table, wouldn't you?" with that she reached forward and snatched his chin in a surprisingly firm grip, forcing his head to the side so she could inspect his face more thoroughly – a procedure that Gin no longer protested against, for his boss wasn't the only one who tended to examine him as though he was some kind of an animal, displayed for sale. Most people who passed down his floor – men and women – had the penchant of scrutinizing his features in order to decide whether they wanted him or not, and by now Ichimaru had learned how to remain stoic during this process, successfully suppressing even the tiny shivers of disgust that incidentally shook his skinny frame. "Aw, but you're still a handsome young man underneath all that, aren't you? If you hadn't lost so much weight, you'd actually be quite a jewel… In fact, have you thought about my preposition regarding your… financial difficulties?"

Tearing himself away from her touch, Gin merely clenched his jaw, refusing to meet the hungry look that had undoubtedly flared in the depths of her cold blue eyes. The prospect of keeping her bed warm in return for her benevolence was something that he had managed to avoid narrowly the past three years, saving at least a crumb of dignity in this abhorrent world of depravity. Problem was that the more this month dragged to an end, the clearer it become that he wouldn't be able to pay her the minimum sum that she required for the rooms she was giving them all, and the thought of what he'd have to do to stay here was looming like a stormy cloud on his already obscure horizon. He knew, he _knew_ that it wasn't possible to survive in a place such as this if you didn't teach yourself how to disregard reality, to pull your mind away from your body and allow someone else to own your physical shell. But there was something just so _repulsive_ about allowing this woman to have her way with him… It made him sick to the stomach, shaking his sanity harder than anything else ever had.

"Gin, honey," she purred in a sort of sugar-coated voice that twisted his insides in a knot. "If you keep covering barely half of what the others do, I'll have to think about getting someone to take your place. And trust me, it's not as hard as you think to find a comely young boy that is willing to work here."

When he still wouldn't say a thing, she just chuckled nastily under her breath and patted his cheek, wishing him more luck in his work as she disappeared down the corridor. Gin didn't turn to watch her as she walked away, but the sound of her overly jolly steps – small, energetic, even victorious somehow – rang loud and clear in his mind long after they had faded. He folded his arms in front of his chest and leaned tiredly against the doorframe, slit eyes gazing emptily down the length of the corridor as he tried to wake his mind despite the fact that he could barely stand on his legs anymore.

'_Seven Charms_''s second floor consisted of eight tiny rooms, each furnished with barely one bed, a chair and a bedside table, and occupied by a single man or woman, who spent most of his or her night standing beside the open door and waiting for some eager client to show up. The system was pretty simple: as soon as someone stepped into the building, they were directed to the person they were looking for – if there was such a person at all – and if they weren't sure what they wanted, they could make their pick from the prostitutes, who were currently free. The selection could take some time if the customer wanted something particular, but usually said customer just walked down the corridors with a candle or a lantern in their hand and stopped in front of each chamber to praise its owner, contemplating the face, the body, sometimes even evaluating the voice of the prostitute in front of them.

Gin was usually one of the rarest choices.

The next hour passed uneventful and slow, accompanied with just a couple of clients who ended up in rooms with some of the fresher girls that were currently on the market. Nobody even glanced in Gin's direction, which was just as much of a relief as it was a growing issue. He would stand there, feet aching and eyes sticky with the texture of the lost sleep, and he would watch the faces of the overfed and aged men who would take some young girl by the hand and enter her chambers with an eager smile on their face and just as eager bulge in their pants. The exchange was always the most ridiculous part – naming your price with dry, chapped lips and a broken smirk while your scratched fingers pulled at the clothes that barely covered your nudity – it made acting like you wanted to please the person before you all the more fake and ridiculous. Nobody was even trying anymore… For God's sake, how could people even want this spectacle of debauchery? Were the purely animalistic, primal instincts really so hard to resists, really so difficult to rein, that you would disregard the shame of buying a woman's moans and warmth just for half an hour of rushed, tasteless pleasure?

The distant sound of whispers and giggles tore Gin from his momentary reverie and made him lift his chin just a little, some dull semblance of surprise managing to emerge on his face upon the presence of a sound as rare and as strange for this place as somebody's (admittedly stifled) laughter. He couldn't immediately tell what was the reason for the mild current of excitement that passed down the length of the corridor but soon a slightly bleary dot of whitish-yellow light popped on the horizon, denoting the appearance of someone new near the beginning of the line. The lantern this person was carrying moved slowly along with its owner, the languidness of the process somehow managing to pour even more interest in the women who served this floor, the desire to snoop and pry slowly aggravating the hustle and bustle till it was distinct enough to be heard even by Gin.

"What _is_ that? Some kind of a joke? Where did Jane find this midget?"

"-barely fourteen. I'm not taking him up."

"Come to look for yer momma, ne, boy?"

"I'll give ya something to suck on, sweetheart, nice and juicy… Take a look and see for yourself, hm?"

"Excuse me, I was just, um, excuse- _Oh, God_!"

"Hahahah, Kathy, you scared the poor lad! Why are you averting your eyes, kid? Too much? Don't you _like_ melons?"

"Would you _please_ cover yourself, Miss?"

"Oh? He's even got manners! I've always fancied them gentlemen, would you like me to be your lady tonight?"

Following the last comment, the small ball of light at the end of the corridor bounced unnaturally, the odd maneuver accompanied by a yelp and the sound of strangely rushed, unsteady steps that clearly indicated an almost-fall. The outburst of squeaky and gritty laughter from Ichimaru's colleagues only confirmed the assumption that the guest had tripped up in some rift in the floor and the man arched a brow, a hint of actual amusement touching the edges of the otherwise humourless grin that he wore.

"Come ta learn then? This is adorable. I will be gentle, I promise, I'm sure ya're one of those cases where nature compensates stature with… other… _talents_."

Another outburst of giggles and then a flash of unhealthily red hair as one of the women swung forward very sharply, making whoever was walking past her stumble backwards and plaster themselves to the railings opposite the line of doors. The prostitute let out an exaggerated kissing noise and then straightened up to join the crowd of snickers, obviously rather pleased with the success of her pointless mission. Gin failed to find the situation funny, though, regardless of the positive mood this game seemed to bring to the rest of '_Seven Charms_'' crew… Instead, he watched with silent interest as the stranger cautiously removed himself from the iron bars that he had involuntarily clung to in his shock and, after a short second of hesitation, continued down the corridor, discomfort and uneasiness surprisingly visible even in just the smudgy outline of his moving figure. The person's gait was surprisingly graceful – Ichimaru noted – smooth, and agile, and just generally screaming of years of training behind closed doors. Whoever it was, it _had _to be young and without a doubt – someone with class, money, perhaps even influence…? So as he contemplated the dangling lantern that was slowly approaching him, Gin couldn't help it but wonder what had summoned such rude – downright hostile, really – attitude from the females he worked with, especially since they were supposed to stumble over one another to capture this new client's attention before it was too late… The burn of the question didn't last for long, however, for the ghostly flame came close enough to where Ichimaru was and the silhouette began attaining shape, form, colour and features.

And then the man understood why.

The person was hardly more than a boy – the exact age wasn't even important, it was the outstanding air of innocence that did it – and now that he was standing so near, tiny, dainty hand running through the mop of extraordinary stark white hair, the kid looked like a snowflake, stubbornly stuck to the heated glass of some tall French window in the middle of the summer. Every inch of smooth pale flesh, every piece of expensive garment that covered his unusually lithe, yet small body, the unnecessarily dramatic black cloak that hung from his shoulders, the soft – _too_ soft – curve of those small lips: it was like some kind of a mockery to this place; a joke that couldn't even be considered funny because of its absurdity and awkward impudence. What was this child doing here? What kind of a dark power and what sort of hypnotic persuasion had given him the foolish idea that venturing into a brothel was a good way to pass the time?

_Perhaps he's looking for a lesson of how to satisfy some lucky lady? _A voice suggested nastily in the man's ear, but Ichimaru chased the words out of his head instantly, irritated by the very assumption. _No_, Gin knew this kind of boys, someone like that wouldn't resort to filthy backstreets and overused bodies to master the art of love – such people sought, tasted and savored every tincture, gulp and bite from their budding amorous experience. They needed no guidance or theories to memorize, for it was the lack of knowledge that made the first steps in the territory of affection and carnal pleasures so precious and unique. The kid hadn't come here to learn a lesson about his or anyone else's bed for that matter; this couldn't be the reason, couldn't be the purpose of this peculiar visit…

_And yet_…

A pair of intense turquoise eyes, rimmed with surprisingly heavy black lashes, glanced uneasily at Ichimaru, the strength and alacrity of the gaze somehow managing to awaken something inside the man's half-slumped body that made him straighten up and remember (actually _remember_) that he wasn't a piece of rag, hanging on a string for exhibition. He _used_ to be more, used to have dreams, hopes, used to understand the concept of the upcoming day… Now what did he have to fill the voids in his chest and the emptiness of his stomach? Flat, dry despair? Loneliness? Exhaustion?

_Stop it. Please, just stop **now**._

…-And this boy, bursting with so much life and emotion, what was he seeing when he was looking at the skinny man beside the door? Why was there no accusation and no lust carved in the young face, why _wasn't_ there any? Could it be just disgust or compassion swallowing the natural urges of the mind and the body, was this person – who Gin barely even knew – feeling _sorry_ for him…?

_No… No. Impossible._

Ichimaru neither needed, nor wanted to be pitied – the very idea of those feelings intimidated him, because the moment he saw them in someone else, he quickly discovered their presence in himself as well - but if there was such thing buried beneath the many layers of colour that built the power of the child's eyes – it did not show, or perhaps the man didn't know how to recognize it anymore. Instead, another sensation shook his world and broke the ground that he had been standing on, making his fingers curl into his own arms, causing his chest to tighten in a way both sweet, yet painful… He felt it through his whole body – the thin shudder that tickled his spine, kissed his skin and caressed his nerves – but he hid the enthrallment well, remaining stoic, impartial, even when his whole being was humming at the sight of the shocking clarity of the green-and-blue pools in which, for the first time in so long, he saw a sincere mix of curiosity, wonderment and maybe, just maybe, something akin to interest.

"Are ya lost?" the words – tender and somehow sympathetic – slipped from his tongue before he could stop them and the astonishment that painted the delicate features of the child upon such gentleness had something inside the man's throat hitch. The boy lifted the lantern he was holding a bit higher, blinking a couple of times when the light hit him too harshly in the eyes, but remained in that position anyways, inspecting the face of the person who was standing in front of him in a manner that felt oddly honest. Devoid, somehow, of the leers and sneers that always accompanied the examinations of the few older clients who bothered to pause in front of Gin's door.

"No," the shorter male muttered finally, his voice firmer than before. "I'm not lost. May I come in?"

Gin couldn't hold back the huff of surprise that escaped him, lips stretching tiredly in a slightly condescending grin as he eyed the person in front of him from head to toe.

"Do ya kno' what it means when ya come in?"

"I do," the other one affirmed immediately – not _too_ quickly, just quickly enough to make sure his answer left no doubts in the prostitute's mind – and tried to muster a reassuring smile that just came out awry . "So may I engage you then, for an hour perhaps?"

Gin didn't react for a second, both surprised and slightly disappointed by the reply that he got, but eventually the well-ingrained apathy which had allowed him to survive so far kicked in and he nodded his head, slipping inside his room and holding the door open for the smaller male to come in. The apprehension on the boy's face was rather obvious as he entered, eyes darting around the room with wavering, almost childish wonderment, and when the narrow emptiness and the forlornness of place finally sank in deep enough to be accepted, the momentary flame of hope that had flared in the jade irises faded like a dying firefly. Gin saw the way the pair of pale lips parted as though they were meaning to say something, yet nothing slipped out, nothing broke the velvet silence that had suddenly enveloped these naked chambers. No comment. No complaint. No approval… The poor thing couldn't say a single word in the face of the blatant poverty that was standing on its crippled legs before him, and for a single trice Ichimaru felt actually regretful for the devastated look that twisted those young features and wiped out the previously trustful expression. Oh, yes… Gin wasn't like the girls from the richer neighbourhoods, the so-called 'dolls' that the wealthy population enjoyed so much. He didn't wear fancy clothes and dress his intentions up with suave words or refined games of tugging, pushing, flirting, teasing… He didn't have the luxury to pretend that beside the sex there was something else to connect him with his client – he merely had the knowledge that he was selling what few were willing to purchase, and that he only had a couple of more good years to come. Afterwards… who knew? He might starve to death, disappearing for good, never to leave more of a trace in the world than an annoying insect that had bitten one or two before being squished.

…Perhaps the boy was lost after all… To come here. To pick him.

Only a mad, old or sick person would do that anymore…

"Men dun usually care so much bout the surroundings…" Ichimaru pointed out hollowly, stepping behind the kid and carefully placing his hands on the pair of thin shoulders as much to support them as to give this occasion some start. The boy didn't tense or protest as the cape was gently pushed off of him, cradled and folded on the only chair in the room, but when Gin came back, long, slender fingers reaching to graze across the back of the shorter lad's neck, the youth turned around to face him, white brows knitted together with a strange kind of concern.

"What is your name?" the boy whispered and the urgency of the inquiry – so soft, albeit so insistent – made Ichimaru scoff, quite amused by the delectable naivety that accompanied the question.

"That's not how it works," he replied half-reprimandingly and allowed his head to tilt to the side with a hint of irony. "I ain't askin' fo' yers now, am I?"

"That's how it works for me," came the surprisingly firm response, though the trace of kindness was still very much visible underneath the unyielding surface that the kid was trying to build up. "You can call me Toushiro. Does that help?"

The man hesitated for a few seconds. He didn't like the idea of introducing himself to someone he had just met, someone – as bizarre as the situation seemed – who had come here to buy him, to use him, to dispose of him after it was over… What did introductions matter? He'd bear whatever name this person decided was suitable, he'd say whatever was required, whatever would work to ignite the sparkle of desire this stranger needed to get things over with - any more formalities would just be a complication. A possible problem, even…

_But_… Gin's grin widened a bit, hand lifting to trance a single finger down the boy's jaw-line to the end of the small, sharp chin, and he shook his head a bit condescendingly, eyes dutifully glued on the smaller one's mouth. He was too exhausted, too worn out to want any physical contact but _Toushiro_ didn't need to know that – he was paying for the attention and the man fully intended to give it to him. After all, Gin needed the money and the kid was far from bad-looking, there was no reason to act all awkward, especially since his client was obviously not at ease. If a little information worked to relax the boy, then maybe there was no harm in letting a couple of words spill before the main event… Besides, how could this person possibly be an issue? He could barely reach the middle of the man's chest, yet alone do any harm. Maybe he could make an exception regarding anonymity – just this once…

"Gin," he muttered, digits travelling down the middle of the boy's chest, tracing the loose strings that held the shirt together. "Mah name's Gin."

"Gin…" the boy repeated, sounding oddly relieved by the admission, and the edges of his lips quivered, trembled, trying to initiate a timid smile despite the circumstances. "You've got a very unusual name."

Ichimaru merely hummed at the praise, distracted as he was by the feel of the smooth fabric under his fingertips and the slightly unusual idea of touching a person who was actually _younger_, possibly less experienced than him. The curves and outlines of the smaller lad's body were very delicate, very gentle, yet the boy had definitely not been undernourished or neglected the way the man had been and the way he still was when the income just didn't allow him more than a small piece of stale bread once per day. He didn't feel envy towards the child, though – whether because Toushiro's flat stomach wasn't swelling with too much wine, meat and fruits or because Gin was just enamored by the lack of disgust and animalistic desire in the limpid jade gaze – and yet even when for the first time in so long he wasn't repulsed by the person who had hired him, there was the weariness, the ever-present _fatigue_ that he wished he could switch off for just one half an hour so he could maybe enjoy the one time in ages when he wouldn't be brutally forced to bite back pain, to rip hollow moans of bliss from his tight lungs instead of screeches of agony and anguish, or have to squeeze out pleasure from his broken body for someone else's sake.

"_Wait_!"

Gin's hands paused on the boy's belt and he lifted his eyes, brows drawing together in confusion as he tried to figure out whether he had heard right. He found Toushiro staring at him, something between anxiety and sadness brewing behind the kid's gaze, drilling into his own one as though searching for an answer that the man's lips wouldn't let out… And then the white-haired client pulled back, untangling himself from Ichimaru's weak hold.

"Do you mind?" the boy asked quietly, nodding towards the fireplace that was snuggling on the corner of the room. "I'm a little cold."

"I'll warm ya up in a sec if ya let me," Gin muttered in his most seductive voice, stepping towards the kid again to loom slyly over the small figure. "Jus' tell me what ya want an' I'll make ya so _hot_ ya're gonna feel like ya're burning…"

To his utmost shock Toushiro snorted at the generous suggestion and shook his head, gesturing once again towards the fireplace as he carefully moved back to increase the distance between the two of them.

"I would like you to light up a fire if you don't mind," the boy repeated quietly. "That would make me very hot if done right."

With that said, Toushiro turned around on his heel and made his way to the bed, where he kicked his shoes off and crawled over the mattress till he was sitting with his back against the wall, legs pulled halfway towards his chest and arms folded loosely over his knees in a position of rather poor interest towards the services Ichimaru usually offered to his clients. Seeing as he wasn't going to get much cooperation if he didn't indulge the brat's whim, the prostitute rolled his eyes and headed for the dusty fireplace, where he crouched diligently in front of the cold, black cavern and proceeded to fill it up with the few last logs that he had piled nearby. A couple of minutes later a handful of tiny flames was lighting up the corner of the room, the vitality of their reddish glow seeming rather strange in comparison to the dead greyish colour that was reigning over the cold chambers.

"Thank you," Toushiro muttered gently from behind the standing man's back. "Will you come over here now?"

Letting out a small sigh, Gin stepped back from the blooming fire and turned around, slowly approaching his own bed like a dog that had forgotten it had ever minded following orders. He caught a sight of the boy's earnest face – glued with a bit too much strain on his approaching figure – and he had to bite back the urge to chuckle. For the first time since he had entered this line of work, Ichimaru ventured to wonder what was going through his client's head, what kind of strange thoughts were whirling behind Toushiro's eyes to make him come here, act this way, pick _him_ of all the other– prettier, brighter and more skilled than him – people who were haunting this forsaken building. Whatever it was that the boy had been looking for when he had stepped here, Gin doubted it had been him; he doubted the kid even understood what he had agreed to to its fullest, for the lack of willingness or desire in his gestures, eyes or actions just didn't match the purpose of this tryst. _No_, the man decided, the idea stinging his chest like a dull needle, this had been some strange and bitter mistake. Toushiro had chosen wrong, entered the wrong place… Perhaps if the light wasn't too bright, if the boy didn't see how skinny, how bony Gin was beneath his clothes, if the man avoided eye-contact and touching, then-…

"Do you always smile like this?" the diminutive client whispered and for some reason the question made Gin's grin widen. The man climbed the bed slowly, trying to read the expression on the other one's face, and when he saw no disapproval or aversion, leaned over the smaller body, slipping a hand over the client's clothed thigh with the full intent to initiate a kiss, only to pause a second later when a small palm pushed against his chest.

_That does it._

"Isn't this what ya wanted?" the man asked a bit irritably, shaking his head just once when his client turned his face away, biting his lower lip as though he was somehow embarrassed by the advance. Sitting back on his knees, Gin eyed the other male incredulously, mouth twisted in an unhappy arch as he tried to keep himself from throwing his hands in the air and getting up from the bed like an injured bitch. "Are ya _positive_ ya kno' what a brothel means, cuz it definitely doesn' seem like it?!"

"I didn't say I wanted you to do this," Toushiro noticed flatly, palms gathering together and slipping modestly between his closed legs and down to his mid-thighs. "Aren't you supposed to do what I want?"

"Well, this is the kind o' thing people _want_ when they come 'ere," Gin pointed out with a hint of viciousness that he was sure he wasn't supposed to express. "This is what I _do_. I ain't tryin' ta force mahself on ya, trust me I-"

"You're tired," the boy finished up for him quietly and the man froze, surprise and slight uncertainty washing away the previous traces of belligerence. He opened his mouth, planning to protest, to _say_ something, but he merely remained slack-jawed, lost in the determination and confidence with which the younger, smaller lad had spoken.

"Nobody's ever-"

"Noticed before?" Toushiro asked with a hint of sadness in his voice, and then patted the spot beside him. "Come sit next to me."

A part of Gin wanted to turn down the offer, some strange and shapeless kind of fear blossoming in the man's chest as the unusual request slowly sank in. But perhaps he just didn't have the imagination required to come up with an idea as to how this situation could end up badly for him, or maybe he couldn't make himself distrust this peculiar kid, who had chosen _his_ room out of all the other available ones and then rejected _his_ kisses with such leisure and inexplicable bluntness, but seconds later he found himself sitting beside his client, slit eyes staring emptily in the distance.

"Do you always smile like this?" Toushiro asked again, snuggling against Ichimaru's side and taking the prostitute's hand between his own. The man nearly pulled back with a hiss. After all this time, after all the people who had had their way with him, it was funny and probably strange to flinch when someone tried to touch him, yet it was exactly this kind of gentleness that usually frightened him, putting him off because of how deceiving and unnatural it seemed. In the end he forced himself to remain calm and still, enjoying – beneath the still rather thick layer of apprehension - the tickle of the little, child-like fingers that were holding his own with such unreserved kind of care.

"I try," he muttered softly, glancing at the smaller male with the corner of his slit eye. "It make it easier."

"How much easier?"

"Not much," Gin admitted, jerking one shoulder in a shrug. "But I guess there ain't really anythin' that can make a big difference if ya're doin' what I do…"

Indeed, the sensation of the kid's digits across his dry, rough skin was rather strange and new, and so intuitively the man couldn't relax and enjoy it, secretly expecting it to be over any minute now and replaced by something undoubtedly unpleasant. He was so used to the gibes, the hits, the insults that scratched across his already worn-out dignity, that somehow the definition of safety and protection had become a foreign notion to him and he could no longer accept or understand it completely. It had taken him way too long to bow and endure without protest everything his takers bestowed upon his bruised back, pursing his lips together when necessary and forcing out the right sounds upon order, despite the tenacious and naturally predatory spirit that had sewed mind, soul and muscle together upon his lamentable birth. _At the end_, he often thought to himself as he went back to the beginning of his abject 'career', the hunger and the survival instinct had been stronger than the drive to master another body instead of being mastered and crushed instead. His first clients had truly enjoyed this about him. Watching the inner struggles reflected beneath the veils of the slit eyes, contemplating with a sick sneer the way his jaw clenched in pain and his fists curled in the sheets as they pushed in too hard and too fast, whispering humiliating mockeries in his ear or seemingly congratulating him for his delicious submissiveness. They had got off on the sight of his resisting body far more than because of his skills of an inexperienced fifteen-year-old boy with no family and no roof over his head. And he had always known it, always understood that when even this little crumb of attractiveness disappeared and he became as numb and as boring as everybody else, the weight in his torn pockets would grow even lighter.

And slowly, slowly, his Fate would be sealed, hopes and dreams gone along with everything else that had ever made him human.

"Close your eyes," the boy uttered quietly, showing absolutely no signs of letting go as his fingers danced gently between Ichimaru's and then along the scratched pale knuckles, the large palm and the too-thin, too-bony wrist. "For real. Close them."

Biting back a weary sigh, Gin did as he was told, failing to protest when his client pulled his head down till it was resting on Toushiro's tiny shoulder.

And then the kid started talking.

Most of it was lost to the man's mind long before it reached his ears, but something told Gin that he wasn't really meant to memorize or hear anything. It was all a big mess of pointless things, about a dream with an enormous ice dragon that the boy had once had in the middle of the winter, a story about a friend of his who had got lost during a parade and entered the wrong house, a tale about people who could see ghosts and free them from their imprisonment in the world of the living.

In the end, Toushiro wasn't saying these things because he expected Gin to remember them or listen to him, or respond even… But it was only much, much later, when the man woke up with his head in his client's lap that he realized that more or less the little devil had lured him into sleep, crooning in a gentle monotone senseless, trivial things that would put the prostitute at ease.

* * *

**_A/N: Now review._**


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